“Specifically.”
“I was at Nora Gail’s.”
Alex was surprised at how much that hurt her. “Oh.”
“I had to question the witnesses about that shooting.”
“Then, you were working?”
“Among other things.”
“You still sleep with her, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
She prayed that he would die a slow, painful death.
“Maybe Nora Gail dispatched one of her heavies to do me in,” she said, “as a favor to you.”
“Maybe. It wouldn’t surprise me. If she doesn’t like something, she doesn’t hesitate to take care of it.”
“She didn’t like Celina,” Alex said softly.
“No, she didn’t. But I was with Nora Gail the night Celina died, remember?”
“That’s what I’m told.”
So, was Nora Gail another suspect for Celina’s murder? The thought made her head ache. She closed her eyes. When they arrived at the motel, she reached for the door handle. Reede ordered her to wait and came around to assist her out. With his left arm around her waist, lending support, they made a shuffling trip to the door.
Reede unlocked it and helped her to the bed. She lay down gratefully. “It’s freezing in here,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he looked for the thermostat.
“It always is when I first come in.”
“I didn’t notice it last night.”
They glanced quickly at each other, then away. Again unable to cope, Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them, Reede was rummaging in the top drawer of the bureau opposite the bed.
“What are you looking for this time?”
“Something for you to sleep in.”
“Any T-shirt. It doesn’t matter which one.”
He returned to the bed, gingerly sat down on the edge, and removed her boots. “Leave my socks,” she told him. “My feet are cold.”
“Can you sit up?”
She could by leaning heavily against his shoulder while he fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. The tiny round things were no bigger than pills, and were covered in the same fabric as her dress. There was a row of them that ran from neck to knee. He was viciously cursing them by the time he got to her waist.
He eased her back down on the pillow, pulled her arms from the tight long sleeves, and worked the dress over her hips and down her legs. Her slip didn’t give him pause, but her bra did. Once he seemed to make up his mind about it, he unclasped it with businesslike efficiency and helped her slide the straps off her shoulders.
“I thought you only had a gash on the head and some scratches on your hands?” Evidently, he’d consulted the doctor.
“That’s right.”
“Then, what’s all th—”
He stopped suddenly, realizing that the abrasions on her upper torso were whisker burns. The corner of his mouth twitched with a spasm of regret. She felt compelled to lay her hand against his cheek and reassure him that it was all right, that she hadn’t minded having his hot, eager mouth at her breasts, his deft tongue stroking her nipples into stiff rosiness.